


Sick and Tired

by McParrot



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Sick John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McParrot/pseuds/McParrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. Rodney helps him sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick and Tired

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> A comfort story for Brumeier who wanted thought hurt/comfort might be nice.

John was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. He was bored, bored, bored and it was O’ dark 30. He needed to sleep but a day’s worth of napping meant it wasn’t going to happen.

The cold virus that was sweeping Atlantis had hit John like a truck. Something about on-going stress lowering his resistance, blah, blah, elevated cortisol, blah, depleted recovery levels, blah, blah, blah. From waking up with a tickle in the back of his throat, to congested sinuses, raw air passages and inflamed lungs had taken just under twenty four hours. In spite of Rodney’s insistence that it had to be plague, Carson had sent him back to his room with Atlantis made, mock aspirin tablets, told him to expect to get worse before he got better and to stay in bed until he did.

John was quite pleased not to have an audience for the rivers of snot he was dealing with. And the coughing up his lungs bit. The base really didn’t need to see their commander in the state he was in right now.

Carson was right about it getting worse. So far it had been three days. He was exhausted from coughing. The tissues of his chest and throat felt scrubbed raw and his face was agony from the congestion in his sinuses. Plus he was feverish. He took his mock aspirin, pummelled his pillows into a different lumpy configuration and got as comfortable as he could. He couldn’t lie flat because he couldn’t breathe. That had been a problem to start with because he only had one pillow. Surprisingly they’d found linen and bedding in Atlantis, but ridiculously few pillows. And the thought of his bedding being 10,000 years old, older than the god damn pyramids, had sent his fevered brain off on some swirling existential journey that freaked him out. These few days with nothing to do, combined with having a temperature, were making him take in the reality of Atlantis in a way he never had before.

The nurse who’d come in the first day to check he was still living had seen him fighting to rest comfortably with his one pillow folded in half for extra height and had come back with all the spare ones the infirmary had. He quite liked that nurse. The guy was built like a tank but had a smile that said he cared that John was feeling crappy. The nurse was quite cute, in an all-American-football-hero sort of way. Sighing John slid his hand into his boxers and fondled his flaccid cock. An orgasm would put him to sleep. And at least he was sleeping on honest to god polyester, earth made pillows.

How had the city preserved sheets so well that the fabric was still useable after 10,000 years? 10,000 year old bedding survived and Elizabeth in stasis was impossibly old.

And that thought was not conducive to jerking off.

He rubbed his thumb across the head of his cock, squeezed and pulled. His cock just wouldn’t get interested. He took a shuddery breath and tried to come up with a fantasy to perk him up. Shower block, boot camp used to be a good one. These days, here in Atlantis, it was more like a long forgotten fairy tale. Atlantis should be the fairy tale, it had all the elements after all – evil villains, ascended fairy princesses, galaxy saving princes (although Rodney probably wouldn’t appreciate being called a prince).

Rodney. Rodney had broad shoulders, great ass. Usually Rodney worked late in his labs, wrapped up in his work, losing track of time. Usually when John couldn’t sleep he’d wander up to the labs, under the guise of making sure Rodney went to bed. By the time he’d wrangled Rodney away from his desk, taken them both down to the kitchens for hot milk and cookies, they’d joked and insulted each other and usually whatever had been keeping John from settling had disappeared into the background and he could go back to his room and sleep.

John startled awake as the pillow under his elbow slid off the narrow bed and he crashed flat on his back. “Fuck.” He jerked upright which started him coughing. “Fuck.” Coughing hurt like razor blades in his throat, but as soon as he moved much, the muck in his lungs rattled and he had no choice. “Ow.” He was nearly crying with the wretchedness of it when the fever controlling properties of the aspirin substitute kicked in. Sweat poured off him and he started to shiver. “Fuck,’ he whispered in sheer misery.

Pulling his hand from his pants, because that was a complete waste of effort he pulled his earwig from his bedside cabinet and shoved it in his ear. “Rodney,” he croaked. It was late, but not past Rodney late. John wasn’t even sure why he called him, but it was habit. Arguing with Rodney set his world to rights. “Rod enn nee.”

“Yes what!” Rodney snapped. “Is that you Major? What do you want? Aren’t you supposed to be on bed rest? What time is it? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

John leaned back on his pillows, calmer already. “What are you doing?”

“Are you sure it’s you?” Rodney said suspiciously. “It sounds like someone’s ripped out your vocal cords and put them in backwards.”

John actually thought it felt like that but before he could answer Rodney bulldozed on. “You’re not a Wraith are you? Oh my god. That’s what’s wrong with you. That’s what the virus does. It turns people into Wraith. Oh god. We’re all going to get it. We’re all going to turn into Wraith. Or,” John couldn’t draw breath fast enough to interrupt him, “those that are infected are going to feed on the rest of us. We’re all going to die.”

“Not turning into a Wraith, Rodney,” John rasped out.

“Are you sure? How would you know? How do you know what turning into a Wraith feels like? We don’t know anything about their physiology. They might have started off human. We don’t know.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.” But he checked the palm of his hand, just in case, ridiculously relieved to find that it was unmarked, with no sign of a feeding maw.

“So what do you want? Why are you disturbing my important work?”

“It’s late McKay. What are you doing at this time of night that’s so important you can’t take time out to talk to your team leader?”

“My sick team leader. Who ought to be asleep. Why aren’t you asleep Major?”

“Slept all day,” John admitted sullenly. “Can’t sleep now. Rodney, I’m bored.”

“You’re bored.” Rodney’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I see. What do you usually do when you can’t sleep? Watch a video. Play solitaire. Read that door stop of a book. Stop bugging me.”

“I tried all that,” he whined. “Can’t concentrate long enough for any of that. Couldn’t even manage to jerk off.”

A splutter lead into a deadly silence and it took John’s possibly delirious, oxygen deprived brain just a little too long to work out why. Then he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make it better.

“So what do you want me to do?”

John was confused. He was expecting derision but if anything Rodney’s voice sounded fond.

“Do you need me to bring you hot milk? Read you a story and tuck you in?”

That actually sounded nice. “Yeah,” he said pathetically. “Please?”

“Um,” said a female voice. “You two do realise this is the open channel?”

So it wasn’t just John who thought that Rodney might have meant something else.

John never really expected Rodney to do anything. This was Rodney McKay after all. Doctor, my brain is sixteen times the size of everyone else’s and you’re all morons and beneath my notice, McKay. The door chime startled John awake, then before he could coherently think about telling the door to open, it opened anyway. John squeezed his eyes shut and moaned as the lights brightened. He flung his arm over his face and frantically thought them down.

“Okay. Okay. Sorry.” Rodney seemed to mean the lights because he left them alone. “God. It smells worse than a lumberjack’s armpit in here.” He gave a fake cough and strode over to the balcony door, flinging it open. “You’re a moron. How long have you been stewing in here?”

Lumberjack’s armpit? How’d Rodney know? John didn’t have the energy to ask. “Huh?” he managed. Cool night air flooded the room making him shiver again.

“Jesus, look at you.” McKay gently moved his arm away from his eyes. “How high is your temperature?” His palm, cool and soothing pressed against John’s forehead, before brushing gently across his aching cheek bone and coming to rest on his well stubbled chin. John melted into the touch, his breathing momentarily even harder as tears welled in his eyes. No one touched him these days and this unexpected gentleness was going to break him.

“You’re a mess. Shouldn’t someone be looking after you? I should call Carson. You should be in the infirmary.”

John grabbed at Rodney’s hand before it could key his radio. “’s okay.” He had a cold. A bad one. But if he were on earth he’d be holed up in base housing, eating whatever food was in the fridge and just waiting it out; no one to know or care if he died in his sleep. Here at least a brawny nurse came in daily and took his temperature and left him mock aspirin. Someone from the kitchen brought a tray each mealtime, whether he ate anything off them or not. He didn’t have the energy to tell Rodney any of that. “Just need to sleep.”

“Yes. Well. Fortunately for you, I have something here that may just help.” John finally noticed what Rodney held in his hand. A reddish paper bag. The sort of bag that they got…

“Horla root powder?” he breathed.

“Yeah.” Rodney glowed at his pleasure. “And I’ve got some of the pink milk from Darna. The sort that goes perfectly with horla root.”

John was sure there was a dopey look on his face. “So you really did mean it about making me hot milk?”

Rodney’s smile was sort of dopey too. “Yeah I did.” Then his face turned serious. He plucked at the bed sheets. “But you can’t sleep in this fetid mess. My god you reek.”

Fetid?

“Huh?”

“I can’t believe Carson hasn’t sent anyone to change your sheets.” He gave an elaborate sniff. “Or make you wash.” He yanked the bedding back. Goose bumps broke out across John’s limbs as the air hit his over-heated body. “No wonder you can’t sleep. I’m going down to the linen room for clean sheets,” Rodney grabbed his hand and yanked him into a seated position. “You. In the shower. Now.” He swept out leaving John to curl around his bent knees, all the hair on his body standing on end, shivering violently at the sudden chill.

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed when Rodney came back. The shivering had subsided a little but he was breathing hard and trying to contain it because he didn’t want to cough.

“Okay,” Rodney said brusquely. “Come on. Chop chop,” but the hand on John’s shoulder was gentle. “Have a shower. I’ll make the bed, then you can have your milk.” With a hand under his elbow, Rodney eased him up and walked with him to the bathroom.

The mirror showed a frightening sight and John could see how Rodney might be concerned. Rodney was watching him watch himself in the mirror. “You going to be all right in here? Should I stay with you?”

John deliberately straightened and thought ‘on’ at the shower control. The room filled with the sound of rushing water. “I think I can manage.  I’ve been showering myself since I was five.”

“Okay then.” Rodney seemed reluctant to leave. “I’ll just be out there,” he motioned at the door, “if you need me.”

John nodded and shoved his boxers down his hips. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Rodney’s eyes firmly fixed on his ass. Then Rodney blushed furiously and excited the room.

The shower was actually a good idea. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t bothered the last few days because the water felt good on his skin and the steamy air cleared things out and made it easier to breathe. He was starting to feel a little better.

Until a tickle at the back of his nose made him sniff, and suddenly a gob of rancid snot crashed down into his throat, making him gag. He choked and started to cough to find that the steam had loosened things in his lungs too. His chest rattled and he doubled over, lumps of phlegm forcing their way up. 

He couldn’t get breath in.

He thought his lungs were going to tear out.

His body was completely out of control. He couldn’t breath. Fuck it hurt.

When he could finally draw breath, it was to the realisation that he was on his knees in the shower stall, upper body propped in the corner and Rodney McKay’s strong arm around his chest, holding him upright, stopping him sliding the rest of the way to the floor. He hacked some more, gagging as the sputum lodged in his throat, before he managed to hawk it out onto the floor. It sat there, yellow and gross before the water caught it and it swirled down the drain. He gagged again, managing, just, not to vomit.

Rodney was making shushing noises as he pulled John back against his chest. “Probably better out than in,” Rodney murmured, holding him tight. “This is probably a good thing.”

John couldn’t imagine in what universe what had just happened could be considered a good thing. He leaned into Rodney and concentrated on breathing.

The water stopped. “Come on,” Rodney shifted. “Let’s get you to bed.”

If John had enough oxygen to think about it he’d have been surprised by how competently Rodney wrangled him from the bottom of the shower to his bed, drying and dressing him on the way. He also magicked Carson into the room somehow. Carson took his temperature, listened to his chest and peered down his sore, sore throat. Rodney swore the mock aspirin wasn’t working but Carson refused to give John Tylenol. “Rodney. We’ve hardly got any left and for something like this the aspirin is as good as anything.” He gave John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Are you with us John? Are you tracking?”

“Huh?”

“There you are. That’s better. I know you’re feeling poorly lad, but really, you’ll be fine.”

“John?” John said.

“Pardon me?” said Carson.

“He means,” Rodney said when John could only blink at them, “that you’re calling him John. Not Major or Sheppard, so now he’s worried that he’s really sick and you’re lying to him.”

John stared at Rodney in awe while Carson laughed. “Really Rodney, you’ve become a Sheppard translator. That’s quite an impressive skill.” He measured a thick opaque liquid into a glass. “Here. Cough medicine. Drink up.”

John sipped and gagged. “That’s awful.”

“I know. But it works. Get it down if you can.”

The flavor was something like turpentine, the texture – cold snot. The look Carson was giving him said he knew. John choked it down. He shuddered and gasped.

Carson smiled reassuringly at him. “You really will be all right. I’m not just saying that. Okay?”

John knew it. In spite of, or maybe even because of the coughing jag in the shower he was actually breathing easier. “Yeah,” he rasped, the medicine already easing the pain in his throat. He could feel his air passages relaxing.

“I’ll be off now.” Carson skewered Rodney with a look. “Next time you feel the need to call on me after 2500, when I’ve been working sixteen hour days, don’t. I leave staff on call so I don’t need to be called out for non-emergencies.” And before Rodney could retort he slid out the door and it shut behind him.

When Carson had gone Rodney turned to John’s tiny food prep area and heated the milk he’d brought with him. “I don’t know how Carson expects me to trust the untrained morons that he leaves on the night shift. No way would I let one of them near you.” He added a carefully measured spoonful of powdered horla root and brought it over to the bed.

“Rodney,” John said helplessly, touched beyond belief. Horla root, was one of the few Pegasus foods that rated higher than chocolate on the Atlantis black market. John hadn’t thought there was any more in the city. They hadn’t traded for much at the time because they hadn’t realised how good it was. And the planet it came from had a year that was nearly three earth years long, so it was going to be a long time before the next harvest and the chance to get any more. But Rodney had some and he was making it for him.

The smile Rodney gave him was fond and so odd on Rodney’s face that John didn’t know what to do with it. “Here,” Rodney said. “Do you think you can manage to drink it on your own?” He didn’t wait for an answer, setting the mug down on the side table and taking hold of John’s shoulders. “Scoot forward,” and he slid in behind him at the head of the bed. He pushed and pulled, settling John between his legs, pulling him back against his chest. “Hi,” he breathed gently into John’s ear, before picking up the mug again. “Ready to drink this?”

John wasn’t used to being this close to somebody else, to being touched. People usually never touched him unless they wanted to hurt him. The sensation was heady and a little frightening. Rodney’s chest was warm and a little damp. It was only then that it occurred to John that as well as drying and dressing him, Rodney had to have done the same for himself because he had, after all been in the shower with him. It was really disappointing to realise that he had no idea whether Rodney had been naked or clothed at the time. His thought processes were all over the place.

John breathed in the steam. He couldn’t catch any of the cinnamon scent but when he raised it to his lips; Rodney’s hand steadying his, the warm comforting flavour flooded his mouth, cancelling out the nasty taste of the medicine. Horla root was slightly spicy, slightly vanilla, maybe caramel, possibly honey and it was so very good. He held it in his mouth before tensing for pain as he let it trickle down his throat. Between the warmth of the drink and the magic medicine there was virtually no pain. He sighed. “’s good. Thank you.”

He felt Rodney’s amusement but all he said was, “You’re welcome.”

Something suddenly occurred to him. “You’re not having any?”

“It’s all right. I save it for nights I’m really wound up or I really need a boost. It’s funny how something so alien is so soothing. You needed it tonight.”

“Oh,” was all that John could manage around his swollen throat and teary eyes.

Rodney helped hold the mug and John sipped slowly, relaxing back against the firm support of the body behind him. It was the most comfortable he’d been all day and he was nearly asleep when he finished the cup. The soporific effects of the horla were starting to kick in and his body felt warm and melty. Rodney’s arms were around him, holding him, keeping him safe. It was like childhood, safe in his mother’s arms, like he hadn’t felt safe in more than thirty years. It was overwhelming.

The mug slid out of his hand and he jumped slightly before realising that Rodney was putting it down on the locker. He felt Rodney’s body tense which had to be precursor to him getting up. John grabbed at his arm. “Don’t go.”

“Shhh.” Rodney’s arm came back around him. “Not going anywhere.” His hand stroked over John’s chest. “I’m guessing you can’t sleep well lying down at the moment and pillow piles don’t work very well on narrow beds.” His breath was warm on the side of John’s face. “My mission is to make sure you sleep, so I’m staying right here.”

Rodney’s hand that was resting on John’s belly started to move down. “I believe there was something else you mentioned that might help you sleep.”

John was too muzzy headed to connect the dots at first. Rodney’s large, warm hand was fully inside John’s boxers and fondling his dick before he finally got it. In fact his dick got it first. An hour or so ago, when John had had his unsuccessful attempt at wanking, he wouldn’t have thought he could get it up for anything tonight. The fact that it was Rodney’s hand in his pants seemed to make all the difference.

“Huh?”

And then he realised that Rodney really did have is dick in his hand and it wasn’t just delirious wishful thinking. “Rodney. What the hell?” His hips automatically tilted, pushing into Rodney’s grip as his blood flowed south and his dick got with the program.

“Shhhh. It’s all right. I’ll look after you. Let me look after you for a change.” Rodney’s breath ghosted across the top of his head. His voice was calm, but John could feel the tension in his body.

“Rodney?”

“Let me do this for you.” Rodney gave a squeeze and a twist and John couldn’t help but respond. He made a small whimpering sound. He couldn’t believe he was here, like this, with Rodney.

“Ohhhh.”

“Yes?” He realised Rodney was tense, worried about John’s response.

“Yes. Please yes,” because he did want it, he really did. Rodney’s body relaxed behind him and he leant back into Rodney’s chest dizzy with it all; dizzy with illness and tightness in his chest and a strange upwelling of something he couldn’t quite identify. The warmth and support was every bit as good as the hand working on his dick and as Rodney’s thumb swirled across his cockhead he started to dissolve. “Oh… Oh my God.”

He was too weak, too unwell to do anything other than just let it happen and too screwed up, exhausted and emotional to have anything close to a normal response. He felt regret that this wasn’t happening when he could really enjoy it, wondered whether Rodney would let it happen when he wasn’t ill, when he could give back as much as he took because he’d like that. He’d like that a lot.

Warmth spread through him as his spine, chest, and groin tightened with the tension pulling deep in his core. He cried and writhed, completely out of control, grasping ineffectually at any part of Rodney he could reach.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Rodney’s free hand caught his flailing hand and held it. “It’s okay. Let it go.” He raised John’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. John’s heart exploded. A sound that might have been anguish forced from his chest as his lungs seized. “Ahhhhhh.” His body convulsed and his spinal cord melted.

“Oh. Ohhhh.” He gasped in a breath as he spurted weakly in Rodney’s hand. The hormone rush flooded him with well-being and a profound feeling of relief and comfort washed through him. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh fuck.” He collapsed back against Rodney’s solid bulk, completely spent, acutely embarrassed by his complete inability to move a muscle.

Rodney placed a kiss in his hair, made soothing noises, stroked his thigh and then man handled him, settling him back against him and grabbing a bundle of tissues to wipe him off. The bedding was pulled back up and Rodney kissed him again. “Sleep now.” A hand petted his arm. “If you’re going to freak out, wait till morning.”

John was already two thirds gone. “N…not freaking out,” he managed to mumble, turning slightly to get more comfortable. He patted Rodney’s thigh and tried to put together any of the words of gratitude, thankfulness and love that were clamouring in his head but he was too tired. There would be time enough for them later. Or he might freak out. For now, all he could do was sleep.


End file.
